


An "Open" Door

by Bluskyy



Series: The Certifiably Insane Savior of Nirn [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: (and happens to be certifiably insane), F/F, Seriously guys, Skyrim Glitches, if you have a character who actively breaks the fourth wall on a regular basis, im not, that's just what happens, this entire series is crack, you are going to be gifted with crack, you think I'm lying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 18:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6868051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluskyy/pseuds/Bluskyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the certifiably insane Dragonborn as she realizes she ran out of lockpicks.<br/>Because it's happened to all of us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An "Open" Door

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mazakeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazakeen/gifts), [keep it real you glorious bastard](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=keep+it+real+you+glorious+bastard).



> Welcome to version 2.0. I hope it's a little better than the previous. I couldn't help alluding to the love/hate . . . relationship.  
> Whoopsie my hand slipped  
> and kept slipping.
> 
> I have no regrets.

The lock pick snapped, making Linnea curse.

On second thought, it was more of a high pitched, drawn out whine as she stared at the little metal rod that she had jammed into the lock. "But that was my last one," she complained.

Lydia tried not to roll her eyes, really she did. "We'll just come back to it later once we get another one," she said with forced cheerfulness. She knew how bad Linnea was at picking locks; forget  _ one _ , they would probably need at least  _ six  _ before she could get this door open.

"No. No, I have an idea."

"Oh, brilliant." Lydia said, as unsarcastically as she could manage. The last time her thane had an ‘ _ idea _ ’, Lydia had been blown off the side of a mountain along with half a dozen bandits. Linnea had sworn up and down that it had been an accident, but Lydia wasn't sure if she believed her (or how she had survived). 

. . . She hadn't been sure about a lot of things since she had first been assigned to the recently rediscovered Dragonborn.

Lydia had expected a huge individual, someone who could absorb dragon souls before they broke their fast in the morning, or at least a  _ Nord _ for Talos' sake. Instead, she had been surprised with a tall Breton, skinny to the point where her arms and legs seemed too long for her lanky body, with pale eyes that focused on her with an insane intensity, who could barely lift the dented iron sword at her side and an edgy, almost  _ electric  _ air about her. Then she had smiled, and it was the most unsettling, discomforting grin she had ever seen, despite its obvious genuinity.

She would have expected the Dragonborn to at least be capable of fighting, and while she  _ had _ gotten better, and her body filled out a little, Linnea was  _ still _ terrible with her sword, though sometime during their travels, the iron had been replaced with orcish, then dwarven, and only recently with glass, which Lydia was particularly glad for as it was much harder to dent or break than the brittle metal swords beforehand (how her thane had managed to shatter the dwarven sword was . . . perplexing, to say the least).

The Dragonborn rummaged in her bag, almost impaling herself on aforementioned glass weapon as she dug through things that had been collected over their months of travel. For the life of her, the housecarl had no idea how she managed to carry so much stuff, or why: most of it was junk that she refused to get rid of.

Linnea triumphantly held up a plate, like a child showing a handmade treasure to an expectedly proud mother. "Found it!"

Out of everything Lydia had expected, a wooden plate had not been on the list. At all.

"You certainly did,” she stated. “And how does that help us get past the door." Her patience was wearing thin; if Linnea wasn't her Thane, if she wasn't the Dragonborn, if she wasn't her one purpose in this life, Lydia would have found a quiet, deserted place to hide her body. Even as she thought it, Lydia felt shame at herself; Linnea was  _ hers _ , and she’d be damned if she allowed some skooma-addled marauder sent her Thane to Sovngarde before her.

"Shh, I'm trying to concentrate," the Dragonborn shushed her. She backed up several paces and turned to face the door. She seemed to be measuring something . . .

Linnea held the plate in front of her with a face of such intensity, Lydia actually wondered if she was sane and she had just misread the many (many, MANY) previous signs of insanity.

Her next action cemented any and all beliefs that the Savior of Nirn, Alduin's Bane, the Dragonborn, her Thane, was, beyond a doubt, certifiably insane.

With the wooden plate held aloft before her, Lydia watched as her Thane full out sprinted toward the door and, like she had expected when she had figured out her plan a split second before, collided head on with the very solid, very  _ tangible  _ door.

"Well. That worked out fabulously," Lydia deadpanned as her Thane fell to the ground with a squawk in a tangle of spindly limbs. Linnea got to her feet with a huff, rubbing at her sore cheek that Lydia knew would bloom into a fantastic bruise an hour later (she filed a mental note to herself to keep an eye out for blisterwort to make a salve). The Dragonborn said nothing as she retrieved the plate and resumed her previous position.

"My Thane, please. We can return later if you so wish it." Lydia was on the verge of pleading. As much as she was loathe to admit it, it pained her to see her Thane hurt, even if it was by her own hand . . .  _ especially  _ if it was by her own hand, she corrected, a small shiver going through her.

"Relax, Ly," Linnea told her with a grin, her blank eyes pinning her to where she stood. "I know what I'm doing."

That wasn’t reassuring.

Nevertheless, she obeyed, and made no move to stop her as she once again hurtled herself toward the door. To her surprise, her charge seemed to merely pass through the wood. There was a whoop of delight from behind the door, and Lydia heard it unlock.

Linnea stood there, holding the door open for her housecarl, smirking. "Told ya' it'd work."

While Linnea busied herself with rummaging through the chest she had found, Lydia inspected the door.

It made no sense: even if she was Dragonborn, it wouldn't be possible for her to pass through a solid, Nordic pine door. And yet she had. Lydia rapped on the door. It made the sound doors usually do whenever they're hit by a steel clad knuckle.

In conclusion, it was perfectly ordinary wood, with perfectly ordinary hinges, and perfectly ordinary fittings. A perfectly ordinary door. 

"Ready?"

"Of course, my Thane," Lydia answered without thought, even though she wasn't. "I am your sword, and your shield."

smiled, "Cool, I need you to carry a thing." She gestured to the pile of junk she held.

Lydia closed her eyes. 'A thing' turned out to be five steel swords, a Dwarven helmet, four left boots (seriously, where were their mates??) and a half dozen scrolls.

She sighed, holding out her arms, the door not unforgotten but put aside. Her Thane needed her, and even though it was a trivial matter, Lydia would carry it out to the best of her abilities. To Oblivian and back, as they say.

"I am sworn to carry your burdens."

Linnea beamed, making Lydia’s chest warm. Then she dumped the stuff in her housecarl’s awaiting arms and, surprisingly, the warm feeling remained.

Lydia cast a fond, annoyed look at her Thane’s back and an irritated huff at the door as she followed after the woman she had pledged her life (and now, maybe, her heart) to.

**Author's Note:**

> Earlier i lied. I have many regrets.  
> This, however, isnt one of them.


End file.
